


pleasantries (with your lover)

by Nebbles



Series: At Journey's End [1]
Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29863887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebbles/pseuds/Nebbles
Summary: “Sir Berg?” Erhardt tilts his head to the side with a smile. “Should I start referring to you as such?”“It is the title I took up when I first began to reside here, and the people wish to keep it out of respect.” He’s used to it, truthfully. It would be a shame to see it gone. “You need not humor me.”“And here I thought it was a charming title.” He laughs softly, and stands upright. “It is good to see you, old friend.” He extends a hand.----------A year after his travels come to an end, Olberic finds himself reuniting with Erhardt once more when the latter comes to Cobbleston with a single purpose in mind: to see his old friend.
Relationships: Olberic Eisenberg/Erhardt
Series: At Journey's End [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2195604
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	pleasantries (with your lover)

**Author's Note:**

> I got bit by the Octopath bug once more, and I know it's not going to leave me for a long time - thus, I'm beginning a small series of each traveler's lives after their journey's come to an end. First up is Olberic, who still has a few things left unsaid when it comes to Erhardt.

Olberic finds that he’s rather happy living a humble life.

Cobbleston welcomes him once more, and it’s almost as if he’s never left in the first place. He’s quick to return to teaching young Phillip the way of the sword, alongside lessons learned on his travels. Humility and patience carry just as much importance, as they temper the soul with a fine steel that is far greater than a blade. He wants the boy to know more than how to fight, as Olberic’s let it dictate his life for much too long. While his sword is not retired, lest an emergency arise, he knows his worth is tied to it no longer.

It is grounding to have a purpose. Olberic no longer feels as if he’s drifting through life seeking out answers. He is no longer just a sword—he is now a shield, sturdy and resolute, ready to protect what matters. Not only is this tiny hamlet nestled in the hills important, the friends he’s made carry value far beyond the leaves Tressa surely has in her coffers. 

His thoughts often drift to his companions, who write to him when they can. They’ve fallen into their old lives, some new, such as Ophilia adopting the role of archbishop in Flamesgrace with Primrose at her side. Miss them he may, these old bones can only handle so many travels across Orsterra. Until he can make such journeys, his well wishes shall do.

He wonders how Erhardt fares as well, if he is still offering his blade to the people of Wellspring. It’s what he assumes, as it’s what the latest letter from him reads. It does feel a tad childish to look forward to each one, but it is far better than the strained relationship that defined them for years. Perhaps he shall write one regardless, even if there is not much news to report. ...Surely there is nothing odd of writing to the man just because. It is what friends do.

“Sir Berg!” Phillip tugs on his sleeve. “You said you were gonna tell me more about your travels today!” There’s a pout on his lips, brow furrowed. 

“Forgive me, Phillip.” Olberic gives a soft laugh as he ruffles the boy’s hair. “I was simply thinking of what to share next.”

They’re placed in one of the many fields in Cobbleston, warmed under gentle sunlight. Dulled training swords rest in the grass, their use set for another day. Phillip’s set in his lap, eager eyes shining, ever eager to hear yet another tale of his grand travels around Orsterra. Olberic’s embellished quite a few, knowing some of them are not for the ears of a child. He truly wishes he carried Tressa’s penchant for storytelling, or the wonderful way Ophilia and Alfyn are with children. While no slouch himself, Olberic does still find challenges in this task. But who is he to deny one, especially when the rewards have quite the value?

“Do you have any requests?” The more Olberic ruminates, the more he realizes how dark some of his friend’s stories were. Were he to speak of Primrose or Therion’s tales, he would be a dead man in the face of the wrath of Phillip’s mother. Truly a formidable foe beyond the ages, she’d be… “Which of my companions shall I speak of?”

“Hmm…” His face scrunches up in thought. “I wanna hear about the nice medicine man again! The one who sent us stuff that would beat the common cold!”

“Were any man to cure it, it would be Alfyn.” He wonders how the man fares in Clearbrook, and if he and that boy Zeph are well. While it wasn’t an observation of his own, Primrose did comment often how sweet a pair they made. “What do you wish to hear?”

“What other cool things did he concoct?” With all the eagerness he displays, perhaps when Alfyn visits, he’ll gladly let the two speak.

“Hm…” Olberic puts a hand to his chin in thought. “We were not shy in needing his skills when our travels took us north. Ophilia was the only one used to such temperatures, you see, so he ensured we did not fall ill. His tonics warmed us in body and spirit.”

“Wow…” Phillip’s mouth slightly hangs open. “And was the snow pretty? How much was there?”

“Blanketed in white far as the eye could see.” His smile grows fond at Phillip’s reaction. “Children your age and younger would be crafting snowmen that towered over them.”

“I hope we get snow like that! We could build one together!” Phillip’s eager nature easily outshines the sun. “Can we, Sir Berg? Pretty please?”

“It would be my honor.” To think he held a purpose in being this boy’s father figure for so long… “I promise.”

They continue to share stories for quite some time, Phillip offering his own anecdotes of how he stayed strong everyday waiting for his return. As it’s his turn to speak once more, one of the villagers greets the pair with a wave as they head up the hill.

“Beg pardon my interruption, Sir Berg, but there is someone here that wishes to see you.” By the smile on their face, he’s first to believe it’s one of his companions. “A man by the name of Erhardt.”

“I—Erhardt is  _ here _ ?” Why did he leave Wellspring? When? Did he not promise its people to be its defender? “And he is… looking for me?”

“Aye, that’s what he said,” they say with a nod, “seemed mighty important, too.”

“You should go talk to your friend! Sir Erhardt is important to you, right?” Phillip quickly climbs out of Olberic’s lap. “We can share stories later!”

“Of course.” Far too many questions swirl about in Olberic’s mind as he stands. “Where may I find him?”

“Hope ya don’t mind, but I told him where ya lived. Said he was an old friend of yours?” There’s a mischievous glint in their eye. “Should be waiting outside your house.”

“That is fine. I would have taken him there regardless.” Whatever matters they discuss, they must be rather important if a letter was not enough. “Thank you,” he says with a quick bow, and finds that he’s heading towards his home rather rapidly.

Olberic isn’t sure what he feels upon seeing Erhardt, but whatever lies within his heart, it’s causing it to skip a beat. He’s leaning against the front door, arms crossed as his boot lightly scuffs into the dirt. It looks as if there’s a tempest brewing in his mind, but the storm hardly seems unkind. He looks less tired than the man he encountered at Wellspring, as if their reunion stripped the men of years of stress. 

Olberic finds that he is staring. 

“Sir Berg?” Erhardt tilts his head to the side with a smile. “Should I start referring to you as such?”

“It is the title I took up when I first began to reside here, and the people wish to keep it out of respect.” He’s used to it, truthfully. It would be a shame to see it gone. “You need not humor me.”

“And here I thought it was a charming title.” He laughs softly, and stands upright. “It is good to see you, old friend.” He extends a hand.

“I am glad to see you well.” Olberic takes it without thought, giving it a shake. “...Though I must ask the reason for your visit, given its sudden nature.”

“I do not intend to leave you in the dark.” Erhardt is slow to place his hand at his side. “However, I would ask that we discuss this in private.”

His heart does that funny, mystifying action of skipping a beat once more. “But of course. Come inside.” 

At first, Olberic is lost on what to do. Giving him a tour of his modest home feels unfitting, as it serves no purpose but to put off this conversation. Given the years they have to catch up on, trifles such as those can wait. Something in Olberic’s gut tells him there shall be time in the future, anyhow. 

“Would you care for tea?” It’s the first thing he can ask that doesn’t cause his mind to go back into a frenzy.

“Tea?” Erhardt’s eyebrows climb. “Did you finally drain the tavern’s supply of ale?”

“Out of all the jests I have heard in time’s past, this one is not your best.” At times, it’s as if the pair never parted. “One of my companions insisted I drink it to help relieve stress. I have found it to be a rather nice beverage to hold discussions over.”

“If it has aided you, then I am glad.” He gives a small smile. “I would enjoy a cup.”

They fall into silence once more, but it’s hardly awkward. It feels comforting to have Erhardt in his home. It’s possibly the most natural the pair has ever seen each other—not as fellow knights or deserters of their titles, but ones who have finally begun to truly live.

“It seems this place has treated you well,” Erhardt comments. 

“It has. When I had lost my way, Cobbleston accepted me without question. For years, I was a man without purpose, and yet… I was able to live here comfortably.” He waits for the water to boil, tapping his fingers along the counter. Could he explain these blasted nerves… “And now that I am back, I can truly say I am happy.”

“It suits you well, my friend.” Erhardt’s words are hardly helping him any. “We have taken our time finding it.” 

“That we have.” Once the tea is finished, Olberic sets two mugs at the table, and gestures for Erhardt so sit. “I do not mean to be so forward, but I must ask: what brings you to Cobbleston?”

“Hardly giving me a chance to breathe, I see.” Erhardt’s hands wrap around the mug. “Do not worry, Olberic. I see no reason to delay this conversation.”

“I did not expect you to visit so shortly, Erhardt.” It’s not a bad thing to see him, but it’s still unexpected. How long has it been since their reunion? Nearly a year? “I thought you were to stay in Wellspring to protect its people.”

He gives a nod. “That I did. But there are other swords to protect them. I would not have left if I thought them defenseless.” 

He  _ left?  _ Olberic’s brow furrows in thought. “And you are certain of this?”

“I am. When I had shared the reason for my departure, they sent me off with a blessing.” His fingers tap against the mug this time. “Like yourself, Olberic, I have sought you out for an answer that I seek.”

Olberic’s silent as he gives a nod. He left Wellspring to seek  _ him _ out in particular… and to find an answer that he only can offer, it seems. Perhaps it’s his imagination, but Erhardt seems nervous, far more than he is. He’s tempted to reach out a hand, but his body seems frozen in place. 

“I see,” he says, voice soft. “What may that be, old friend?”

“If you—” Erhardt clears his throat, “—nay, if we are worth leaving it for.”

Olberic finds that his cheeks grow far warmer than the tea in his hands as an expression of shock makes it way onto his face. What… What does Erhardt mean by this? What were they worth—what value has Erhardt come to seek? Surely it cannot be—it cannot be what his heart wishes to assume…

“Rekindling our bond… it had ignited another purpose within me.” Their eyes meet. “That my place was at your side, protecting the people as one. That even if we were no longer knights of Hornburg, we could still fight side by side.”

This time, he finds that he cannot will himself to say a word. All he’s able to offer is a nod, breath caught in his throat. 

“Our years apart… I will hardly deny their complications. But they never did change the fact I had fallen for a man I was supposed to be deceiving.” There’s a pause as Erhardt takes in a deeper breath. “Those days were lies, yes, but what they held… to deny them, I would be a fool.” 

Olberic fears the mug may shatter in his hands from how hard he’s gripping it.

“To hells with it, we’ve done quite enough with dancing around another,” he says with conviction, despite his reddened cheeks, “my heart speaks true, Olberic. I’ve loved you many a year.”

When hearing a love confession, it’s common to not know what your reaction may be. Olberic’s never given much thought to whether he’d ever hear one of his own, certainly not one so earnest, so… so warm. It’s not the most grand word he can apply, but given how it’s hard to focus on anything but the gaze Erhardt holds him in, it’s suffice to say coherent thought is lost upon him. 

It does take a few minutes for Olberic to find his voice. It’s charming, in a way, how he’s about to bumble around his thoughts. “I…no— I am no fool, either, nor can I deny you have been my purpose for many years as well.” And even were it for ill-found revenge at first, before a greater one had been realized. “You helped me realize a part of myself I had lost… and though we may not be whole, to gaze beyond the horizon as one—I could not say no. Not when I have loved you as well, Erhardt. Not when I have never stopped.” For a man of few words, this is quite the confession.

It isn’t lost on Olberic how ridiculous he does sound, given how he once thought his purpose was to spill Erhardt’s blood for revenge’s sake. Not only this, it’s impossible to deliver his words without tripping over them, how red his face is, how his heart’s ready to burst out of his chest. While he can’t read Erhardt’s thoughts, he’s willing to wager theirs are aligned. 

“We must look rather unlike ourselves, flustering in such a way…” Erhardt’s next laugh is softer, perhaps more shy. “One would think we are schoolchildren, and not men in our thirties.” 

“It would not be us otherwise, I am certain.” Olberic believes had this confession gone any other way, it may have lost its charm. It’s not as if he and Erhardt are experts in this matter. “These past years for us… to call them complicated would be an understatement. To think the man I regarded so fondly was one I thought to turn my blade upon…”

“We have had our difficulties, and I would be remiss to discount them.” Erhardt’s hand hovers away from the tea, hesitant to reach further. “But look at us, old friend. We have been healing together, and it has strengthened what we never lost.” 

Olberic sets his mug to the side, knowing it’s as good as abandoned; the man before him is far more important. Carefully, he takes Erhardt’s hand in his own, breath catching in his throat once more. It’s so warm in his own, and he finds comfort in the callouses it bears, how rough the skin is from years of handling his blade. It’s a reminder of all they’ve endured together, and have come out stronger for it. 

“And we shall continue to grow as one,” he murmurs, “you have always been my purpose, Erhardt. I am fortunate for that.” 

“Gods… listen to us, speaking in such a way.” Erhardt laughs quietly as he begins to brush his thumb over their conjoined hands. “I did not think us so soft.”

“Nor did I.” When Erhardt looks at him yet again, the world stops.

Erhardt is stunning. He can think of no better way to state such things. It’s not a lack of ability to, albeit that is a factor. When Olberic returns his fond gaze, he finds the world in his smile. Resolve blazes in his eyes, the remaining embers filled with nothing but reverence for him and no other. Light freckles dust his skin from his time in Wellspring, and Olberic wonders when he’ll begin to count them up close. With the way the sunlight that pours through the windows catches his hair, Olberic swears it begins to glow.

“Gods teeth,” he whispers, “you are beautiful.”

Neither of them know how to respond, given it does nothing but further the flush running across their faces. Olberic’s never seen such a bewildered expression on Erhardt before, but he dares to claim it enhances how attractive he is. To think these thoughts are his own, that he’s capable of sounding like a lovestruck fool… perhaps that is the title to give himself, and it’s one he can wear with pride.

Whatever compels Olberic to cup Erhardt’s jaw in his hand and bring their lips together, he isn’t quite sure. Despite how every nerve in his system is frayed, they seem to vanish as Erhardt returns the kiss, bringing his free hand to rest upon Olberic’s arm. It’s as clumsy as one expects, but it doesn’t stop from the pair from exchanging a few more. They’ll have as much time as needed to learn. It’s something he hasn’t given thought to in some time, but Olberic allows himself to recall the gentle warmth of his crush, and how at times he’d spend times during drills wondering how soft Erhardt’s hair was. 

For the record, it’s one of the finest things he’s ever felt. His fingers sail through it next, bringing Erhardt closer as their foreheads touch, as the pair needs to catch their breath. Not even an afternoon of rigorous training offers the breathlessness they feel, dizzy with joy over exhaustion. It’s a sensation Olberic dares he’s content to chase for the rest of his—no,  _ their  _ days.

“I am glad you returned to me.” It’s selfish to claim, but Olberic knows a piece of him left when Erhardt did. “And I am further honored under the circumstances for the reasons you have done so.”

“I knew that I could hardly ignore what I felt, the more I continued to dwell on our reunion.” Erhardt’s fingers dance down his arm. “I should call myself the fortunate one, as I traveled here under the guise of bearing my heart to you.”

“It is one worth protecting.” He’ll repeat this as many times as it’s necessary. “Perhaps this shall be our new purpose, protecting another alongside Cobbleston. What say you, Erhardt?”

“I say that I could imagine no better,” he says with a smile, “I am glad to pledge my blade to you, Olberic.” 

They kiss again, and for once, Olberic does not worry what their future holds.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, make sure to leave a comment/kudos! If you want to hear about future works and rambles, make sure to follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/that_nebbles)


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